


into that world to-be

by HappyCamper27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Vocaloid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Child Neglect, Drabble, Drabble Fic, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Chronological, Nonbinary Harry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyCamper27/pseuds/HappyCamper27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, when they brought back life to the world, relighting the altar on top of the Tower--they did not expect this. Because really, who would? </p>
<p>(In which the characters of Blessed Messiah and the Tower of Ai are reincarnated into the HP ‘verse and the world shifts, just a bit.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this bunny bit me, and bit me hard. Let’s see where this goes, yeah? (I blame @generock on tumblr for this--she enables me very much and laughs as i drown under the plunnies)

“…You’re a girl?” it hurts, to hear Ron say that so dubiously. Or, it would, if she hadn’t been expecting it. (She very studiously ignores the ache in her chest that says that it _does_ hurt.)

Hermione huffs, red-brown eyes sharp and fierce. “Anyone can be either gender, Ron,” she says sharply, and Ron stares at her. 

“Even if they were born a boy?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Even if they were born a boy,” Hermione affirms. “If Harry says she’s a girl, then she’s a girl. If she says she’s a boy, then she’s a boy.”

Ron nods carefully, seeming to process that. “Okay,” he says. “That makes sense.”

And Harry can’t help the sigh that escapes her chest, relief flooding in as tension she hadn’t even realized _existed_ drained away. She knows that this friendship probably won’t last, because nothing ever goes right for her—either as Miku or Harry. But the fact that it will last just a bit longer, that she won’t lose these two for something that she _can’t help_ …

She struggles to keep back the laughter that bubbles up in her throat, and the tears that threaten to come with it. Ron pats her shoulder awkwardly, looking a bit confused, and she realizes too late that she’s shaking, shoulders shaking with repressed hysteria.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and both Ron and Hermione blink. “ _Thank you.”_

“Don’t mention it,” Ron says, still looking confused, still patting her shoulder. Hermione’s smile melts into something a little sadder, but softer. 

“You’re our friend, Harry,” she says, red-brown eyes still so familiar that it _hurts_. “No matter if you’re a boy or girl or anything else.”

And that’s…that’s so much more than she had ever hoped for.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun glares down at him as he’s working, hands grubby and dirty from the hard work of tending the garden. He doesn’t stop, of course, because Aunt Petunia’s probably watching from the window, just _waiting_ for him to even pause in his work. She likes excuses to snarl at him and call him names, he thinks. 

But he’s little and a child—only four—and thinks that that’s okay. Because he’ll do better! She’s only so angry at him because he can’t do it right, so he just has to do it better this time. And maybe she’ll let him have some proper food tonight, like she sometimes does when she and Dudley and Uncle Vernon are going on vacation and Mrs. Figg can’t take him. 

Though, he does rather hope he’ll be able to sleep well tonight. His dreams are warm and kind, filled with faces he _thinks_ he should know. They always leave him with a strange ache in his chest, like he can’t quite breathe right, because they’re warm and the people are like _friends_ are supposed to be like—not family, because that’s Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley, who don’t like him very much because he can’t quite get anything _right_.

It’s an inviting escape from the hard work of his waking hours, and he can’t quite help the desire to just sleep his days away, no matter how angry Uncle Vernon would get, because it’s just so much _better_. He knows he shouldn’t think it, because his Uncle says he’s a horrible burden, and costs a lot, but…he can’t help it. They’re just so _nice_.

But it’s hot, and he’s sweaty and tired and dirty, so he forces his arms to work a little faster, because maybe if he does this quickly enough Aunt Petunia will let him drink from the hose before he goes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh Harry you sweetheart  
> why do i torture you so much


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn’t want to sleep anymore. But his waking life is almost just as bad, because he knows that no matter what, the Dursleys won’t be happy. He’s not good enough, never good enough, and he can’t remember the last time he was actually _happy_.

His waking hours are hell, and his dreams aren’t much better; betrayal and pain, heavy duty on his shoulders met and added to by the weight of his friends— _family’s_?—sacrifices for his sake. It’s horrible, because there’s no relief from it. All the dreams cut off right as the altar lights, as the world dissolves into purplish oblivion around him, and that’s _it._ It stops right there, and honestly, if _this_ is paradise? The one that he gave up so much to revive? He wants a _refund_ , because it’s most certainly not his.

But there’s not much he can do about it except keep going—keep marching past the coldness of his so-called family and their hatred of him, past the way his skin sits so uncomfortably around him, past the way that nothing ever seems to get better. Because…because—

—Well. If he was reincarnated, then…maybe he— _she_? He’s not sure, not anymore—isn’t the only one. Maybe the others are here, in this horrible maybe-paradise, and maybe one day he’ll see them again. He doesn’t think it’ll amount to anything, because nothing ever goes right for him, but. But, but, _but_.

Any hope is better than nothing, he supposes.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes she wonders what happened to the Tower. It was so huge, so dominating—no matter where you went, it hovered like a shroud of looming doom. And that’s so cliché it makes her want to laugh, but it’s true.

But now that doom is conspicuously absent, and it makes her skin crawl. Because something like that _never_ just ‘disappears’.

Except—

What they did; those Blessings, and the relighting of the flames. Was that sacrifice enough to lift the curse? But no, things like that still wouldn’t leave so easily.

And yet—and yet.

Sometimes she wonders if the Tower was shattered, left to crumble to dust, only for worse things—more insidious things—to take its place. Prophecies, darkness, madmen.

And once again, she’s shoved into the spotlight, told to save the world. Once a Messiah, always a Messiah.

And by God, does she _hate it_.


End file.
